


Short Story

by septenarySubversion



Category: Original Work
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-05
Updated: 2017-09-05
Packaged: 2018-12-24 08:00:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12008448
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/septenarySubversion/pseuds/septenarySubversion
Summary: A short story I wrote about an upbeat person with all his fears and concerns in the rearview mirror. Life and his peers have other plans.





	Short Story

Blood still leaks from the cuts on your temples as you make the last few steps to the door. You slide your keycard in and wait for verification. You tap your foot impatiently; it shouldn’t take this long. You hear a lock click and you rush inside, locking the door behind you and sliding the chain in. You let your head fall against the door as your heaving breaths slowly adopt a calmer pace. You begin to process the evening's events as you press a fresh towel against your head, lie on the down mattress, and pick up the bedside phone. Room service had better not disappoint.

 

Sweat gets into your shirt, ears, and eyelashes as your feet pound against the sidewalk. Your ears can barely register the water splashing around your feet for the furious heartbeats ringing through your skull. The slurred shouts of a cloaked figure behind you are clear, though, and the warning gunshots in the air even more so. You take a glance to see if he is still trailing you, but as you round the corner into a side alley, you hear the crack of a blunt weapon against your head a split-second before you feel the pain. You black out for what feels like a second, but as your vision returns, you find yourself on the ground. You can’t see your pursuer, or your attacker. What you do see are several filing tools and knives, dulled to the point of inutility, littered around you. Dazed and confused, the adrenaline hasn’t stopped pulsing through your veins, and the sense of nearby danger hasn’t left you. You get up, not without an intense throbbing at the sides and base of your skull, and quickly make your way down the street to the hotel.

 

Room service has come and gone, less satisfying than you read on Yelp, and you lie on your bloodstained sheets, not bothering to even change pillows. You briefly tried to get your phone out, but the bright light proved to be a mistake for your pained head. Attempting to get out of bed for water was an even worse idea, and the stars in your eyes helped you decide that rest was definitely the best course of action. Now, staring at the dim light fixture above, you’re still a little dazed. Who was chasing you? What would they want with a 20-year-old on holiday, scouting for internships? You didn’t think a graphic designer would be so sought after that people would travel to Renton of all places just to hurt you. Your thoughts begin to drift, and as the moths’ swaying, lazy motions become predictable, you are lulled into a painful sleep.

 

You wake up to the sound of sirens outside your hotel room window and heavy blows to your door. You are fairly certain this isn’t hotel cleaning policy, so you unlock the door and step back to survey the hall. Except for the wail of the sirens, the hall falls into dead silence. You look around and then down at yourself. You realize that you haven’t changed since yesterday, so your jeans, dark graphic t-shirt, and leather trench coat with a dried mixture of blood and sweat make you feel like a moron. You also realize you forgot to take your sky-blue sneakers off before you slept. Before your self-confidence can fall any faster, one of the men shows a gleaming police badge. Words and questions begin to form, but another officer cuts you off before any of them can leave your mouth. Resigned, you let the men handcuff you, and you walk down the hall, surrounded by blue coats and donut breath.

 

The dried blood has your blue hair-dye hidden, so your head is just a mix of messy black and dark red. You hadn’t bothered to clean it, and the jail cell you’re in probably doesn’t have any shampoo. There isn’t anyone else in the cell, and you sit on the hard bench, waiting for something to happen. You briefly entertain the notion of escape, but the lack of any windows, drills, or cutlery shoots you down. You have a paperclip in your pocket, but you have no clue how lock picking works. With nothing to do, you recline on the bench and begin to doze off, just as you hear the door swing open. Quickly sitting up, you hear the officer ask you to come for interrogation. You ask for water. He looks at you with a strange expression, almost impressed with your gall. The rest of the walk is spent in silence.

 

You walk down the steps of the police station and lament the fact that you haven’t yet picked up your rental car. No-one you know lives here, and you doubt any cab would allow you to come near their prized upholstery, current state in mind. Pulling out your phone, with a few new scratches since the arrest, proves no help as the screen refuses to respond. With a sigh, you go back into the station to ask for a map of the city. You don’t see any end to the humiliation.

 

Finally having returned to your hotel room, you do a quick sweep to make sure none of your belongings have been taken, mistakenly or otherwise. Allergy medicine on the bedside table as you left it, suitcase with clothes in the corner, and, score, mint on your pillow. You pop it into your mouth, enjoying the cool sensation as you fall face-first onto the clean sheets. Not a moment after the rosy smell fills your nostrils, the landline phone rings.

 

Thankfully, it wasn’t the police wanting to ask more questions; it was the indie game studio you had been looking to intern for. You decide to change your t-shirt for a blue button-down, but the rest of your outfit hadn’t been too damaged by the interrogation, so you keep it. Trench coat and all. For the heck of it, you add a Stetson to your outfit. You grab your messenger bag from a chair in the corner and run down the stairs. As you head into the lobby, your hat gets surprised looks from strangers, so you consider putting it back in your bag. If there’s one thing you’ve learned from the US of A, though, it’s that individuality is key to success. With a reinvigorated self-esteem, you briskly make your way out into the light and towards your interview.

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know if I'll continue this. Maybe if I have some free time. More likely if people actually read it.


End file.
